


That's New

by alisvolatpropiis



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Comeplay, Ficlet, First Kiss, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Happy Derek, M/M, Naked Cuddling, Naked Derek, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post Season 4 Finale, Wolf Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 08:20:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2302934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alisvolatpropiis/pseuds/alisvolatpropiis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles missed out on seeing Derek's transformation, so a few days after Mexico, he goes to see for himself.</p><p>~~*~~</p><p>“Come on dude. You’re making me regret saving your life. <em>Again</em>.” Stiles grins and kicks his leg, knowing full well that Derek can hear his lie.</p><p>Derek rolls his eyes again and stands, peeling off his shirt, dropping it to the couch before unbuttoning his jeans.</p><p>“Oh, um, okay,” Stiles mumbles, looking away and slurping at his coke. He knew about the naked part, was expecting it. But expecting – imagining – Derek naked is nothing like seeing it happen right in front of him. Derek steps out of his jeans and walks towards the middle of the room in just his black boxer briefs. Stiles knows the rules of no homo means he shouldn’t look, but he’s always felt pretty damn homo when it comes to Derek, whose hands are resting at the waistband of his underwear, and Stiles doesn't just want to look, he wants to <em>touch </em> and <em>lick</em> and <em>oh damn</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That's New

**Author's Note:**

> Spoiler for Season 4 re: Derek's wolf status. 
> 
> Just a little post episode 4x12 ficlet, some light smut to help me get over writer's block while working on my next longfic, which I will start posting as a WIP soon!
> 
> Thanks for reading and for your lovely comments and kudos, darlings!

“So, full wolf now,” Stiles asks, pulling the loft door behind closed behind him. “That’s new.” 

Derek glances up from the book he’s reading, nonplussed that Stiles lets himself in without knocking. They both know that he picked up his scent the moment the elevator doors opened. Maybe even sooner. Who knows what he can do now that he’s leveled up.

The arc of Derek’s eyebrows is less glowery than usual, something Stiles studies carefully, forever attune to every curve and dart of those ridiculously expressive brows hooding those even more ridiculous eyes.

What’s that they say about learning a second language? You know you’re fluent when you dream in it.

If Stiles’ second language is Derek’s eyes, his third is Derek’s mouth, which is crooked up at one corner, like he was expecting him to come around asking questions about his new abilities. Of course he was.

“Yes, full wolf.” He closes his book and leans back into the couch cushion, arms resting comfortably over his stomach. He looks _relaxed_ , and Stiles doesn’t really know what to do with that. A new addition to his Derek vocabulary that he’s yet to learn. 

“I thought that was just an alpha thing.”

“If that were the case I would have been able to do it when I was an alpha,” Derek explains patiently.

Stiles grabs a couple of sodas from the fridge and joins him on the couch, sitting sideways against the armrest so he can watch Derek. Research, he tells himself.

Although, that constant, niggling contrarian voice in his head interrupts, he was never compelled to study Scott after he became a true alpha. But he’s known Scott since their sandbox days. Stiles has always known he was a puppy with a heart of gold – the whole true alpha thing just made it more literal.

At first, after he let himself finally believe that Derek was okay, that those tortured breaths commanding him to save Scott weren't his last, Stiles was just relieved, grateful.

But Derek…evolving was definitely something he needed to learn more about. Derek reached lycanthropic enlightenment or whatever, dying and coming back to life with the ability to transform into an actual wolf. Four legs and a tail and the whole thing. A skill that made his mother, according to Deaton, the baddest werewolf in the land. Hell yeah, Stiles has to learn all he can. Derek’s a supernatural marvel. Possibly a messiah of some kind. Stiles should write his life story: the Derek Gospel, the Book of Stiles.

He’s knee deep in a mental image of Derek as Werewolf Jesus – he’s already got the beard – when he realizes that he hasn’t spoken in a while. Derek is watching him, bemusement on his face that Stiles is used to, but inflected with something like affection rather than his usual hard-edged irritation.

“Fair point.” Stiles rubs his hand across the back of his neck, wonders why he’s nervous, wonders if Derek can smell it. “I didn’t get to see, you know. You achieving the next stage of evolution or whatever. The full wolf thing.”

Derek rolls his eyes at that, which settles Stiles’ nerves a bit. There’s the Derek he knows. “You came here to see me shift?”

“Well, yeah dude. Parrish said it was pretty bad ass.” Stiles feels his cheeks warm a bit, remembering that Parrish had also made a comment about _that ass_ when he was telling him about Derek’s transformation.

“Why don’t you just wait until the next battle? I’m sure we’ll be fighting for our lives again soon enough.”

“Hey now, that’s awfully fatalistic for a zenwolf don’t you think?”

“Realistic, not fatalistic.”

“Semantics.”

“Stiles.”

“Come on dude. You’re making me regret saving your life. _Again_.” Stiles grins and kicks his leg, knowing full well that Derek can hear his lie.

Derek rolls his eyes again and stands, peeling off his shirt, dropping it to the couch before unbuttoning his jeans.

“Oh, um, okay,” Stiles mumbles, looking away and slurping at his coke. He knew about the naked part, was expecting it. But expecting – _imagining_ – Derek naked is nothing like seeing it happen right in front of him. Derek steps out of his jeans and walks towards the middle of the room in just his black boxer briefs. Stiles knows the rules of no homo means he shouldn’t look, but he’s always felt pretty damn homo when it comes to Derek, whose hands are resting at the waistband of his underwear, and Stiles doesn't just want to look, he wants to _touch_ and _lick_ and _oh damn_. 

Derek’s gaze settles on him for a moment, too long, making Stiles squirm a bit. “Do you want me to go upstairs to shift,” he asks finally, like he’s concerned for _Stiles’_ modesty or something.

“And make you walk down those spiral stairs on four legs? Dude, come on. I think I can handle your junk.”

Derek fucking _snorts_ with laughter at that, head thrown back and everything, and who _is_ this happy, smiling, unburdened man? Stiles is so caught up in the wondrous sight that is happy Derek that it takes him a minute to realize _why_ he’s laughing, to realize _what he said._

He tries his best Derek-inspired eye roll, but he’s pretty sure the heat that’s coloring his cheeks undermines it. “I can handle _seeing_ your junk. Just, wolf out already, jerk.”

Derek’s still smirking when he pulls his underwear off, tosses them over to his shirt on the couch next to Stiles, who gulps again at his soda and runs his eyes up and down Derek’s body as fast as he can, hoping in vain that he’s too busy shifting to notice Stiles’ growing arousal.

As Stiles long suspected, Derek is uncut. And _large_.

But fortunately Stiles can’t let himself get too wrapped up in these confirmations (but he will, of course, file this information away for careful consideration later) because Derek is transforming, the air all around him shimmering and shaking. Stiles feels his eyes go impossibly wide as he watches Derek’s already impressive chest hair thicken, his joints cracking and rearranging themselves as he falls forward onto all fours.

It’s like a glitch in the matrix then, an uncanny pause in time that he barely registers and then there’s a huge black wolf in the middle of the loft, staring at him, strangely human eyebrows arched in question, as if to say _so, what do you think?_

Derek’s eyes are glowing blue, and Stiles finally lets out the breath he’d been holding. It’s reassuring, seeing those vivid sapphires again, reminds him of those early days when they first met and spent so much time circling and nipping at each other. Those eyes reassure him that no matter how Derek may have changed, he’s still the same man who trusted Stiles to cut his arm off when they barely knew each other. Reassures him that despite everything that’s happened to both of him since that day, they’re still _them_.

Wolf Derek trots over to the couch, eyes still luminous, lupine face kind and gentle in a way Stiles has only rarely seen on his human face. “Hey big guy,” he says, reaching out to pet the wolf’s head before remembering that it’s _Derek,_ that that would be like, just reaching over to stroke his hair or something if he were human and that’s not a thing they do. His hand pauses in midair. “Sorry,” he mutters, but before he can pull away Derek huffs through his wolfy lips and scrapes a paw on the hardwood floor. He knocks his head into Stiles’ hand, granting permission.

Derek’s wolf fur is soft, thick and full and lustrous, and before he knows it Stiles has both hands buried in his scruff, _scratching_ him behind the ears, and holy shit, Derek just licked his face. “Dude,” he whispers, a little shaky. Stiles swears it’s a smile he sees on that wolf face before Derek jumps up on the couch, stretching out on the cushion next to him. “Oh, okay. So, we’re just gonna…hang out like this?” Derek answers by closing his eyes and sighing, resting his head on Stiles’ thigh, perfectly content it seems.

"Okay, yeah, this...this is cool." Stiles rubs a hand at the back of his neck and gets comfortable, hyper aware of the heavy weight of Derek's head on his leg. Eventually he reaches over him to pick up the book he had been reading when he came in. _Love in the Time of Cholera_ , in the original Spanish. “Showoff,” he mutters, petting wolf Derek’s back, tossing the book he can’t read aside and cuddling up against him, closing his eyes.

**~*~**

It’s dark outside when he wakes, dim light from the half-moon shining through the big windows washing the loft in gray-blue light. It’s cold in here as usual, but Stiles feels warm, too hot as he blinks his heavy eyelids open.

He freezes, stomach flipping and turning inside out as it dawns on him that he’s snuggled up against an unshifted Derek, stretched out on the couch alongside him.

Human Derek, too-perfect scruff and wild eyebrows and pouty pink mouth and rippling muscle from head to toe, _naked_ and cozy. His eyes are still closed and he’s breathing steady like he’s still asleep, which Stiles can’t comprehend because even he can hear how loud his heart is pounding.

“Stiles,” he mumbles, eyes still closed. Good god, sleepy Derek is _adorable_.

“Hey there human-shaped Derek,” he sputters, wincing at how awkward he sounds. They’re on their sides, faces close, and Stiles is lying kinda painfully on one arm but he can’t be bothered to care about that because his other arm is resting is the shallow curve of Derek’s bare waist, hand resting against his lower back. They’re just barely pressed up against each other; Stiles focuses on steadying his breathing.

“Sorry,” Derek says, eyes cracking open. “I must have shifted back in my sleep. I’m still learning to control this, I guess.”

“‘S’kay,” Stiles slurs, relieved that Derek doesn’t seem to be freaking out about waking up naked next to him. Stiles is fully clothed of course, but with his heartbeat and the lust he knows must be pouring off him in waves, he might as well be naked, his want for Derek laid bare and impossible to hide anymore, if it ever was.

Emboldened by Derek’s continued relaxed comfort, Stiles ventures a glance down, and yeah, maybe he _squeaks_ in surprise and awe and excitement when he sees that Derek is hard, his generous cock flushed and pretty and rising against his abs. Stiles' own hardon twitches at the sight, mouth flooding with saliva. When he tears his gaze back up to Derek’s face his eyes are fully open and they lock on his in silent question.

“Are you still learning to control that too,” Stiles quips, voice shakier than he’d like.

Derek smiles. “No, I’ve got that completely under control,” he whispers, scooting closer, nuzzling his scruffy face into Stiles’ neck. The movement also presses their cocks together, and even through his khakis Stiles feels like he might die a little bit at the contact.

“Is this okay,” he mumbles into Stiles’ neck, scenting him deeply.

“Yeah,” Stiles breathes into his beard, using Derek’s strong back for leverage to pull himself closer, to show Derek just how okay this is.

Stiles sighs when Derek's mouth finds his. He had always thought that if he ever got the chance to kiss Derek, it’d be angry and bruising, or desperate and aching as one of them was dying. 

He never thought it would be slow and tender… _peaceful_. Derek’s mouth is even warmer than the rest of him, his tongue eager but gentle, soft, the heat he’s feeling now coming from within as much as it’s coming from the furnace of Derek’s hard body. He’s never kissed anyone like this, like each sweep of their tongues and press and pull of their lips are speaking a thousand silent promises, a thousand secrets. It really shouldn’t surprise him; it’s always been this way between them, this mysterious connection that lets their bodies communicate with more truth than their words.

Soon Stiles’ shirt is off and he’s nibbling into Derek’s neck, biting back the cries of pleasure rumbling from his throat at the feeling of Derek’s big hands on him, running soft trails up his spine, sliding them over his ribs to palm at his nipples before venturing further to tease at the line of hair below his navel. “Can I,” Derek asks, fingers pulling at the button of his pants. Stiles nods, lifting and shimmying his hips to help Derek move his pants and underwear down. Derek leaves a swath of messy kisses down his chest as he reaches down to help Stiles kick them off, mumbling words that sound suspiciously affectionate.

They stop moving once Stiles is fully naked too, heavy breaths in tandem. Derek’s face to face with him again, eyes mossy green and big. There are so many things Stiles wants to say, like _finally_ and _why now_ and _it scares me, how much I love you_ , but thank god he doesn’t, thank god he can’t because Derek’s kissing him again, mouth still hot and soft but his lips more urgent, tongue more demanding.

Stiles kisses him back, hips thrusting. Derek breaks the kiss long enough to lick a wet line across his palm and fingers before reaching down to wrap his hand around both of them, stroking firmly. Panting against his mouth, Stiles’ hand finds the muscled swell of Derek’s ass and holds on tight, pulling him closer, rocking his hips faster. He’s going to come embarrassingly fast, is surprised that he hasn’t already, given how much he’s fantasized about this, how achingly hard he is. His dick is starting to leak, making the sweet friction of their swollen cocks sizzle with even more heat, Derek stroking faster and faster, hips rocking in obscene little rolls.

Stiles shivers with electric pleasure, body tensing and clenching as he comes with a shuddering gasp in the shape of Derek’s name, his warm splatter giving Derek more slick to finish a minute later, spurting hot and hard against Stiles’ stomach.

**~*~**

“So,” Derek says after awhile, face still soft and sleepy, smiling, hands spreading his mess into Stiles’ skin, like he wants to rub it in, make it last. “That’s new.”

Stiles laughs into his shoulder. "Yeah, it is. But I think I could get used to it," he answers, voice rising in nervous hope.

Derek cradles his jaw in his hands reverently, eyes boring into his.

He doesn't say anything, but then again, he's never had to.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [deleted-scenes](deleted-scenes.tumblr.com) on Tumblr - come say hi and hang out for a spell!


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